New Beginnings
by SunnyGrace
Summary: Ellie Parker, a transfer from Chicago, is SVU's newest member. She leaves behind the city she is no longer tied to, hoping to run from her past and the people in it. How will the mysterious detective adjust to her new squad? And how long before the past she dreads finally catches up to her? Rated M due to the show's content. (BarbaxOC)
1. Chapter 1

"Four years on Chicago's Homicide Unit," the older woman reads from the loosely clasped file, an eyebrow raised curiously. "I hear you requested the transfer – is there any particular reason?"

"Getting justice for the dead is, by no means, any less important, but solving their murders won't bring them back to life. I want to help people, make a difference in the lives of those who have to keep on living." Ellie bites her lip, indecision briefly flitting across her mind before she brings her gaze back to the warm brown eyes watching her carefully, kindly. "I'm ready for a change."

A few seconds pass in an almost silent communication until, finally, the woman on the other side of the desk pulls open a drawer, grabbing two very familiar objects. Gently, she slides the gun and badge across the worn wood, accompanied with a firm nod and a quiet exhale. "Welcome to SVU, detective."

The 16th precinct was practically empty when she first arrived early this morning, but now, as she and Sergeant Olivia Benson walk out of the latter's office, each of the nearby desks are filled with their rightful owners, and the air is filled with gentle chatter, ringing telephones and fingers pressing into keyboards at a steady pace.

Benson claps her hands together, gathering her squad's attention at once. "Alright, everyone, we have a new member joining our team. This is Detective Ellie Parker, just transferred today from Chicago. Introduce yourselves, show her the ropes." Turning her body to face Ellie, she gives the younger brunette a bemused look. "And don't let these guys poke you around too much," she says with a slight smirk before retreating back to her office.

All eyes seem to be on her as she slowly makes her way to the single empty desk. It's eerily silent for all of three seconds before a man speaks up.

"I'm Nick Amaro," he says, shaking her hand with a firm grip. The detective is tall, with tanned skin and short, dark curls.

Then, a petite, blonde woman introduces herself as Amanda Rollins, a noticeable accent escaping her softly smiling lips.

"Fin," the last man says simply, a grin stretching his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Just Fin."

Ellie nods at them, her lips quirking in an awkward smile as she wonders how or if she's supposed to carry the conversation. She was never exactly the outgoing type but in the last few years, her social life was close to non-existent. Everyday greetings with coworkers, working together through a case, the occasional, rare drink. She barely opened her mouth outside of work.

The detectives, having quickly noticed her discomfort, engage her in easy chatter. They talk about the weather, of course, baseball, food – her new squad evidently take serious pride in their New York slices, something she has yet to try out. Just as the conversation begins to dwindle, Benson storms out of her office with a determined step and an even more fierce expression.

"We have a case – 19-year-old girl has been taken to the hospital," she begins, hands at her hips. "Clothes ripped, potentially tortured. She was unconscious when the EMT's got to her." Shaking her head, she barks orders with restrained force. "Nick, Rollins, go check on the girl. Fin, take Parker to the crime scene – CSI is there now."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This is my first fanfic, so I really have no idea what I'm doing, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. Reviews are always welcome and appreciated. Barba hasn't been introduced yet but I promise he will be a central character in this story. Also, the chapters are short but I'm hoping to update frequently.**

The warehouse is cold and empty, the beams rusted and water dripping from the ceiling. Each tentative step, each disgusted remark echoes loudly throughout the large space, adding to the already eerie atmosphere. As Benson had said, CSI is already here, snapping photos, dusting for prints and swabbing unidentified substances.

A flimsy, metal chair sits in the centre of the room, soiled with blood and other, currently inconclusive but easy to guess, fluids. The smell of burnt flesh permeates the scene, stinging nostrils and burning lungs, and with the several cut wires scattered across the moldy floor, it doesn't take a room full of detectives to deduce why.

Seeing a body bag being taken from the scene, Ellie stops one of the tired looking men with a frown. "Who's this?"

"He's the one who called 911 – heard screaming."

"And the killer heard him," she says under her breath, vaguely noticing the man shrug before they go back to their task.

"Son of a bitch," Fin mutters, a deep scowl harshening his face.

Ellie nods, agreeing with the label. "We'll catch him," she says with confidence. It's a promise to herself, really. Because no matter how many late nights or dead ends, stinging eyes or dirt coffee, yeah – they're catching the son of a bitch.

A shrill ringing interrupts her rapidly darkening thoughts. After a few gritted words, he turns to her. "It's Liv – wants us back at the precinct."

Leaving with heavy steps and an equally heavy weight in their chests, a breath they weren't aware of holding escapes their tight lips, the untainted air around them bringing relief to more than one of their senses. The car ride back is spent in relative silence, neither of them in the mood for easy banter.

When they arrive, Nick and Rollins are already there, updating a stewing Benson. Noticing Fin and Ellie, the detectives exchange a quick nod before continuing their report, this time to the whole group. "Hailey Dawson – lots of shallow cuts, blood loss, burn marks," Nick shakes his head, "she's been through a hell of a lot."

"And rape kit tested positive," Rollins adds. "No semen, but there was severe trauma."

Benson begins to pace. "Okay," she sighs, fingers massaging her temple. "This girl was assaulted _after_ she left a frat party – does she remember talking to anyone there? Anyone make a move on her?"

"Yeah, she says there was a guy who hit on her, but she turned him down." Nick begins writing a name on the whiteboard. "Daniel Walters. He's in her psychology class."

"Alright, go talk to him." At the sergeant's orders, the two detectives leave with a hurried nod. "What have you guys found on the scene?"

"It ain't pretty," Fin begins. "She was tortured, Liv – for about seven hours if our timeline is right. She might've been dead by now if it weren't for the kid who called 911."

"Find out who the kid is and why he was in the neighbourhood at one in the morning," Benson says, flopping into an empty chair, shoulders sagging and back hunching over the desk. "And see if he was alone."


	3. Chapter 3

The kid's name was Brendan Holt. Him and his buddy, Jason Matthews, frequented the warehouse whenever they wanted to smoke weed. It was why they were there that night.

And it was why Hailey is alive and Brendan is dead.

Jason, currently in the interrogation room, is noticably shaking, fists clenched and eyes bloodshot.

"Why didn't you come to the police?" Nick asks, more of an accusation than a question.

"I freaked out," he blurts, hands scrubbing his face before he continues in a scratchy whisper. "Brendan already called 911, but then that man came out. He stabbed him," he exhales shakily, "I don't think he saw me. Just got in his car and left."

"You said the man didn't see you," Nick interrupts the now sobbing kid. "Did you see him? How about his car?"

On the other side of the glass, Ellie and Benson wait with baited breath, hoping for an answer they could work with.

"Kind of, I don't know," the boy sniffs. "It was dark."

"If I showed you some pictures, do you think you could ID him?"

"Maybe," he nods.

* * *

The photo array was not as helpful as they had hoped. Jason couldn't identify Daniel, the kid who hit on Hailey at the party, instead only saying no, the guy was older. He also mentioned the car being a black convertible.

So, it wasn't a complete bust, at least.

Currently, the whole squad is going through footage of nearby street cams, blinking through dry, stinging eyes and gulping down coffee as if it were water. Thanks to every third car being a black convertible, so far, they have nothing.

"Why couldn't the perp drive a yellow hummer?" Fin groans, frustration leaking through his tone.

The detectives all nod absently when, suddenly, Rollins gets a call. "Hailey." The name, coupled with the confusion and concern lacing the blonde's voice, is enough to pique everyone's interest. "I'll be right there," she says, hanging up the phone. "She remembered something."

"Go," Benson instructs, turning her gaze to Ellie. "You, too, Parker."

* * *

"I told you before that I couldn't see what he looked like because of the blindfolds," the girl trembles, "but he did talk."

The detectives arrived at the hospital in less than ten minutes, and Ellie was not ready to face the sight that greeted her.

The victim - Hailey - had a sickly pale complexion, a platform that contrasted sharply with the dark bags under her red, puffy eyes. Her body appeared so frail, so weak, covered in cuts and scabs, burn marks from the wires and, apparently, from cigarette butts, too.

Ellie was used to seeing all sorts of gory sights from her time on Chicago PD. Blood, lifeless eyes, still, unflinching bodies... beaten, battered, mangled, executed - she's seen them all. But the fact of the matter remained unchanged: they were dead.

But this girl, although scared and vulnerable in more ways than one, is not dead. No, she is very much alive, reliving the trauma through every second of every day, and will continue to do so for years. Perhaps for the rest of her life.

No one can change the past or prevent the hell she went through, but they can certainly help get her justice - something not just Ellie but the entire squad vowed to do.

Hailey didn't say anything after that, the shaking overtaking her body and wracking it with waves of sobs. Rollins gently takes the girl into her arms, rubbing her back in soothing circles and murmuring words of comfort. Ellie watches from a few feet away, wanting to do the same but thinking it best not to overwhelm her, especially since it's their first time meeting each other.

Soon, the loud cries soften into a few occasional hiccups, and Ellie steps closer to the pair, speaking in a sympathetic tone. "I can only imagine how difficult this is for you right now, Hailey," she says quietly, carefully. "But whatever you remember, no matter how small or insignificant you think it might be, might help us catch the man who did this to you. And I hope you believe me when I say we're doing everything we can to do just that."

At that, Hailey looks up, the newfound determination in her blue eyes only slightly betrayed by the tremor in her voice. "He said he's been wanting to do this since the moment I stepped into his class."


	4. Chapter 4

"So, it's one of her professors?" Benson asks from the front of the squad room.

"Well, it's looking that way," Rollins pipes up. "She did say the voice sounded familiar - just couldn't place it."

"Prof or not, this guy is sick," Fin says with a shudder.

Nick, who hasn't said a word this whole time, suddenly blurts out an unexpected question. "And what's with the lipstick?"

"Lipstick?" Turning to face him, Ellie almost gives herself whiplash.

He nods. "Yeah, he put red lipstick on her."

Red lipstick.

"Oh, my God," she breathes, heart racing as a million thoughts swirl through her mind.

"Ellie?" Benson asks, a slight frown on her face.

"Two years ago, we had a case in Chicago," Ellie says, pacing the small area. "A woman was raped and tortured - cuts, burns... strangled. She was found with red lipstick on. The Killer was never found." She cards her fingers through her hair, chest filling with dread. "Now that I think about it, both victims have brown hair and blue eyes." It was a cold case that had hit her especially hard, as the young woman reminded Ellie so much of herself - not just physical similarities, although that definitely was chilling, but they were both loners, closed off from the rest of the world. Both just a little bit broken.

"Great, so we're looking for a serial killer," Rollins mutters.

"Alright, this narrows down our search. Look for any professors at NYU who moved here within the last two years. Let's get to work."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Got it," Nick practically shouts. "Adam Brown, teaches English at NYU, moved here two years ago and," he pauses, "drives a black convertible."

"Okay, Nick and Rollins, bring him in. I'll call Barba," Benson says, already dialing the phone.

 **AN: So, I'm not sure how you guys are liking the story but Barba finally makes an entrance in the next chapter. Please feel free to review and tell me if there's anything you think I should fix!**


	5. Chapter 5

Adam Brown isn't one of Hailey's professors, but he is her friend's. The voice was familiar because she had heard it when she sat in on one of his lectures. The man might be considered charming to those who don't know any better, but he was just plain creepy to the SVU squad.

As soon as he was taken into an interrogation room, he had requested his lawyer. Currently, he's in there alone, and he seems to know the detectives are watching from the other side of the glass, observing his every move - or rather, lack thereof.

"Where's the fire?" A voice interrupts the team's stewing, immediately gaining their attention.

The man is dressed to the nines, Ellie notes. He's only a few inches taller than her, but a grey, three piece suit hangs nicely over his broad shoulders, both his shirt and tie covered in navy blue stripes. His skin is tanned - glowing, almost - and that, along with his gelled brown hair, contrasts strikingly with his jade green eyes. If he's the ADA, he definitely looks the part.

"In there," Benson motions toward the glass, "he's lawyered up."

The man nods, exchanging a knowing look with the sergeant before shifting his gaze to Ellie. "Who are you?" He asks bluntly, a slight tilt to his head.

"Ellie Parker, just transferred from Chicago a few days ago," she says simply, offering her hand after a brief internal debate.

"ADA Rafael Barba," he replies, shaking her hand with a firm grip. Up close, Ellie notices just how piercing his eyes are, feeling almost exposed by the virtual stranger. And then, in a flash, the contact breaks and everyone is back to talking about Brown. "Who's going to question him?"

Before Benson has a chance to respond, Ellie pipes up. "Do you mind if I go in, sergeant? He was my case back in CPD, so I know more about his profile." she breathes, "Also, I think I'm his type." Barba raises an eyebrow at that but Benson just nods, accepting her request.

Releasing an exhale and, with it, her bubbling anxiety, she enters the interrogation room with squared shoulders and a blank face.

 _We caught the son of a bitch - now it's time to put him away._


	6. Chapter 6

Ellie walks in with feigned nonchalance, her steps deliberately slow as she ignores the burning gaze of Brown. Finally plopping down in the seat across from him, she tilts her head, leveling the professor with an unblinking stare.

"So, I see your MO hasn't changed," Ellie says evenly, not missing the way his eyes brightened ever so slightly.

"My client has no idea what you're talking about," quips the beady eyed lawyer.

She hums, cradling her chin in her hands. "Red lipstick? No, doesn't ring a bell? How about Hailey Dawson," she slides a photo across the cold metal, "the girl you raped and tortured and probably would've killed if it weren't for the boy who called 911 - whom you _did_ kill."

"And what evidence do you have, exactly, that indicates my client committed the crime you're accusing him of?"

"A statement from both the victim and a witness... oh, and your move from Chicago two years ago - more than enough to indict you."

"What does him moving from Chicago have to do with anything?" The lawyer snaps.

"Jessica Davies," Ellie says, knowing Brown would recognize the name. The chair scrapes across the floor as she hunches over the table, leaning towards him. "Another blue eyed brunette - should I be worried?" Her words come out as a whisper, sounding almost seductive. His lips quirk, only to instantly curve back down.

"Alright, this is ridicu-"

"No, no, it's okay," Brown interjects, effectively cutting off the man next to him. "Look, detective, I'm truly sorry for what Miss Dawson went through - I heard she was a student at NYU," he says, eyes wide in mock innocence. "But I am not the man you're looking for."

"You didn't answer my question."

The balding attorney stands abruptly, snapping his briefcase shut before guiding Brown from the chair. "My client has no criminal record, is a respected member of the community, and your so called evidence is circumstantial at best. We'll see you in court," he says with finality as the two walk towards the door.

"I hope you catch the man who did this, detective," Brown says over his shoulder, face creased in what he probably hopes looks like sincerity - the twinkle in his eyes, though, is clear to see.

As soon as they're out of sight, Ellie slams her fist against the table, lowering her head as she struggles to calm her breathing. When she's finally able to gain some composure, she stalks out of the room, only to be met with the concerned gazes of Benson and Barba.

"It's him," she grits out, a storm raging in her ocean blues. "I _know_ it's him."

Her sergeant shares a brief look with the ADA before placing a hand on Ellie's shoulder. "And we'll get him."


	7. Chapter 7

"Damn it," Ellie grumbles, tossing the empty cup across her desk.

The squad has been spending days - and nights - combing through the case against Brown, but they've produced little reward for their effort. With every potential lead, came a solid brick wall. Yes, there are plenty of holes for the defense, but none are too big that they can't be legally stitched together with the argument that they're circumstantial.

"Something wrong?" Jolted by the familiar voice, Ellie spins around in her chair, meeting the steady green gaze of their ADA. He's wearing a darker suit today, one that contrasts pleasantly with his colourful tie.

"Coffee," she answers simply, not having the energy to form a full sentence.

He flicks his attention to her messy desk, strewn with loose files and scattered with piles of empty cardboard cups. "Might be best to try and not get a caffeine overdose," he says dryly, quirking a brow in amusement. Plopping down in a nearby chair, he places his briefcase and neatly folded coat on the empty desk beside hers. "Any progress?" He gets straight to the point.

Carding stiff fingers through her tousled mane, she shakes her head. "With what we have right now, he'll be walking away a free man. Again," she says, the frustration evident in her voice. "He wore gloves - no fingerprints. He used a condom - no semen. The victim was blindfolded, so she never actually saw his face, which then means she can't actually identify him - at least, not in the way a jury will accept. And, of course, no murder weapon was found. I mean, at the top of my head, I can think of ten different ways the defense could and will use to discredit everything we have - which, at the moment, are two very weak witness testimonies," she finishes, rubbing at her temples with increasing vigor.

"Okay," Barba nods, "so, the guy's smart. But he has to have messed up somewhere - they always do," he says confidently. Ellie would have thought he was unaffected by the stress of their case if it weren't for his tapping fingers and the slight slump in his shoulders.

"That's what we're counting on. Liv is with Hailey now, and Nick and Rollins are talking with Matthews again. Fin is," she pauses, "I don't even know," she breathes, bringing her forehead to rest against the cluttered desk. "You wasted a trip."

Glancing at his watch, he bites the inside of his cheek, caught in a moment of hesitation. Having made a decision, he stands up, putting on his coat and gripping his briefcase. "Come on," he clears his throat, "we could use a break. When's the last time you ate?" He asks, already sensing the answer. At her muffled response, he rolls his eyes. "I'll buy you the best coffee in town."

Before he even finishes his last sentence, she's up and reaching for her jacket. "You should've started with coffee," she says, a tired smirk tugging at her full lips. "Well," she prompts, amused at his unimpressed expression, "let's go."

 **AN: It's been a while since I updated but, in all honesty, I was contemplating an indefinite hiatus. I'm quite busy with school and so I'm unable to write really detailed, quality chapters - something I thought was unfair to you readers. I don't know if you guys are enjoying the story, but I thought I'd at least try to continue. I appreciate reviews!**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: It's been a LONG time. And this is a short chapter, but I had some time and thought I should give it a go. PLEASE NOTE - I changed the story to first person, as it comes more naturally to me. I hope this won't bother you guys too much; let me know if it does.**

"I see it doesn't take much to please you," Barba says with a smirk, hearing my groan of appreciation.

We're standing outside and next to a coffee cart, sipping at our steaming paper cups. The caffeine is already providing a welcome jolt of energy, helping me feel less like a zombie and more like an actual human being.

"You know, any other girl might have been offended by that statement, but I'm going to let that go," I say, shrugging. "You caught me in a forgiving mood."

He grunts in acknowledgement, motioning for us to start the short walk back to the precinct. "So, what made you join SVU?" It's only small talk, but he does seem genuinely curious.

Taking a large gulp, not hating the way the hot liquid scorches my throat, I mull over my thoughts. It's not because I don't know the answer, but rather I don't know how to answer. "Why does anyone?" I answer cryptically, still undecided as to how much to share.

"To put sick monsters behind bars? To help victims who can still be saved?"

I nod. It's part of the reason. "Sounds about right."

He seems to catch on to my hesitance, casually changing the subject. "I heard you think you know this guy. From Chicago."

"Not think," I correct. "I do know. It's him."

"You know I can't take your word for it."

"I know," I grumble, feeling the tension return as we talk about Brown. "But it doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"I never said you were." We share a look, though I'm not sure what exactly we're communicating. Understanding? Gratitude? Solidarity? It breaks too soon for me to decipher. "What did you mean when you said you're _his type_?" He asks, a brow raised as we enter the precinct.

"His victims have both been blue-eyed brunettes," I say, simply. It's as busy as ever inside, and we have to raise our voices over the noise.

"I see." The green of his eyes cloud with something I've seen before: concern. Shaking his head, he quirks the corner of his lips. "Well, I'm sure there are plenty of blue-eyed brunettes in prison."

"You think?" I chuckle.

He hums. "If I remember correctly - and I usually do - I put away more than a few, myself."

"He better look forward to it then."


	9. Chapter 9

I can feel it.

I thought I was being silly, paranoid, stupid. But now, I'm not so sure that's the case - actually, I'm sure that's _not_ the case.

I'm being watched, followed.

Almost every time I go outside, goosebumps raise on my skin and a chill crawls down my spine. It's an intuitive reaction that I grew and honed in the years of my old life - a time when I was constantly vigilant, on alert and hyper-aware of my surroundings. Any little thing that seemed off would set alarm bells ringing in my head.

I've been hearing screeching sirens for nearly two weeks now.

I haven't told anyone about it, though. What would I tell them, anyway? _I have a feeling_? Yeah, no. They would ask questions, demand I elaborate, explain. And then what would I say? I've been doing all I could to push it to the back of my mind, trying to postpone the inevitable. I wished I was just being a basket-case. I wished that none of this was real and that, therefore, I wouldn't need to consider the consequences. But I know better.

And I'm afraid.

I'm terrified, actually, because there were only two people in the world who were able to make me feel this way - like an anxious, scared little girl.

One of them is dead.

That leaves _him_. And if I'm right, if he somehow found me and really is back... well, what would I do, then? Leave? Leave the job I've barely worked, the co-workers that might have become my friends?

Yes, that's exactly what I'd do.

"Ellie?"

"Yes?" I blink, seeking the voice that snapped me from my thoughts. It's Liv. _I hope she didn't ask me a question_.

Her deep, brown eyes meet mine as she leans against the side of my desk. Her face is crinkled with amusement but creased with concern. "It's late, you're exhausted. Go home." I shake my head to protest, but she's already walking away, speaking to me from over her shoulder. "Now."

I sigh, slinking into my chair. Sleeping just seems like a waste of time - precious time I could be using to catch more criminals. Besides, I'm too tired to even feel tired. With a few distracted taps of my pen, I make a decision, slowly coming to a stand. A few hours of rest won't hurt.

I don't bother glancing at the clock before I leave the building. It's dark when I make it outside, which tells me all I need to know: I've been awake for more than twenty four hours. Liv was right. I'll be more useful when I'm not just burning through caffeine. Beginning the walk home, I make an impromptu stop at a bar located a couple blocks away from the precinct.

There is a respectable amount of people inside, but not enough to crowd the room. _Makes sense on a Monday - or is it Tuesday?_ I've lost track of the date, but I can't find it in me to care. The counter is mostly vacant, and I head straight for an empty stool near the corner.

"What can I get for you?" The bartender asks, polite but friendly.

"Something that tastes like alcohol." At his nod, I lower my head, resting my forehead against the cold wood. It feels like only seconds has passed when he serves me my drink. A scotch on the rocks. Good. "Thanks," I say, offering a small smile. He winks before leaving to serve another customer.

I go back and forth between sipping - gulping, really - the golden liquid and squishing my cheek against the counter. It's during the latter that I notice someone slipping into the seat beside me, though I don't bother looking to see who. I'm feeling just slightly lightheaded, and I get the feeling my current position is what's preventing me from falling on my ass. I'm lost in the motions of my finger tracing the rim of my empty glass, when a familiar voice interrupts my reverie.

"Rough day?"


	10. Chapter 10

_Barba._

He's here, sitting on the stool beside mine, staring at me with an expression I'm either too tired or too drunk to decipher.

I've only had one glass of scotch, and already, I feel drunk off my ass. I'd normally need at least three glasses to reach this level of intoxication, but I guess I shouldn't be too surprised with this outcome. After all, my body is running on no sleep, no food, and a ridiculous amount of precinct coffee. Clearly, I'm not the invincible woman I would've hoped to be.

Maybe that explains the fleeting giggle that escapes my mouth.

"More like rough few weeks," I say, releasing a heavy sigh. Suddenly, I'm not finding the humor in this situation - though, I don't think I really did to begin with. Shaking my head, I meet his probing gaze - once mine regains focus, that is. "What about you? What brings our favorite ADA to this bar at," I glance at my watch, "something-o'clock at night."

"I'm your favorite ADA?"

"Are you deflecting?" I narrow my eyes.

He smirks. "Are you?"

"No." I blink. "You're the ADA for SVU. I'm a detective for SVU. That means you're my ADA, which makes you my favorite - for now, anyway," I mutter the last few words to myself.

Apparently, I wasn't as quiet as I thought.

"For now?" He quirks a brow. "Already planning your next transfer?"

The lightness of his tone indicates he's joking, but his question - regardless of whether it was in jest - hits a little too close to home.

"Nope." I look away, playing with my empty glass. "Just letting you know I'm not an easy girl to pin down."

"I didn't think you were."

Our eyes lock, and once again, I'm not sure what it is exactly that passes between us.

"Well, I should get going," I say, breaking our silent connection.

 _Are my words slurring?_

"I should, too."

Nodding, I slide off my stool.

Bad mistake.

The room tilts and spins, and I would've fallen flat on my face if it weren't for the strong grip around my arms holding me up straight.

At least, I think this is me standing up straight.

"Ellie? Are you alright?"

Vaguely, I hear Barba ask the bartender how many drinks I've had. I'm about to answer for myself, but before I can utter a single word, my jaw goes slack, my eyes close shut, and the world fades to a darkness I didn't know I missed.

 **A/N: OMG. Update post hiatus! It's fairly short, but short is better than nothing (I hope)!**

 **Truly, this chapter is 100% thanks to those who left a comment after my little** ** _writer's contemplation_** **. Seriously, thank you guys. I truly appreciate your comments/opinions/feedback/reviews.**


	11. Chapter 11

_It hurts._

 _There's no way he could've attacked every inch of my body, and yet, there's not a single part of me that isn't in pain._

 _Marred in blobs and streaks of reds and purples, I'm a throbbing mess of bruised bones and battered flesh._

 _I've made him him angry again - that much is obvious._

 _His blue eyes - the very ones that used to gaze at me with a kind warmth - are now blazing with hate._

 _He might really kill me this time._

 _"Please..." I whimper, cowering against the floor as he approaches with menacing steps._

 _Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he spits, "Please, what?"_

 _"Please..." I wince as the tears flowing down my face meet my hot, stinging skin._

 _"Don't make me the bad guy, Ellie. This is your fault. You're making me do this."_

 _"I'm sorry. I'm sorry-"_

 _"Ellie..."_

 _He swings his arm back, and I instinctively try to block my face. "No, please, Matt-"_

"Ellie!"

My eyes snap open, and for a few moments, I struggle to adjust to reality.

I'm panting - almost wheezing, really - my breaths quick and shallow. My clothes stick to me uncomfortably, and instead of bruises, my skin is covered with a running layer of cold sweat - something that, as soon as I notice, makes me shiver.

And then there's the obvious anomaly.

He's hovering above me, his hands on my shoulders. I don't know what to make of our position - or this setting, for that matter, as this is definitely not my bed nor my room - but for some reason, I'm unable to look away from the pretty jade eyes that are currently staring down at me with evident concern.

"Barba?" I croak.

"You're okay. It was just a dream," he says, releasing me.

Clearing my throat, I attempt to blink away the remnants of my nightmare. "Why... What-"

"You passed out at the bar."

"The..." _Right. The bar._ "Oh, God. I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. I only had one drink."

"You were exhausted," he says simply, shrugging.

Releasing a shaky breath, I slowly get up until I'm sitting upright on his very comfortable bed. "Right. Well, again, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to cause you any trouble. I, um, I'll just get out of your way, then."

 _Get it together, Ellie._

He shakes his head. "Don't be ridiculous. It's," he glances to somewhere beside me, "three in the morning." I watch as he walks away and disappears inside his walk-in closet, only to reappear with something in his hand. "Here," he says, passing me a soft, white t-shirt. "I would've given it to you earlier, but I didn't think you'd appreciate me undressing you while you were unconscious."

"Thank you," I nod, "but I should really leave-"

"Stay. Get some more sleep. I'll wake you up in a few hours."

"But-"

"Ellie." He sounds almost scolding, but his eyes glint with what I think is amusement. "It's fine, really. Now sleep. Let me know if you need anything."

"Okay," I say - rather sheepishly, too, I might add.

He leaves the room with a smirk.

 _Definitely not my finest night._

 **A/N: Another update! Thank you for your comments, guys!**

 **BARBA AND ELLIE GROWING A LITTLE CLOSER? ;)**


	12. Chapter 12

"Ellie."

Groaning, I rub my eyes - good thing I don't have any makeup on - and slowly blink them open to see Barba once again waiting for me to wake up. This time, however, instead of hovering above me, he's sitting a polite distance away on the very edge of the bed.

And this time, he's holding something out toward me.

Something I smell before I see.

"Mmm," I moan, taking greedy gulps of the hot - but not burning - liquid. " _Coffee._ "

"I thought you might need it." He smirks. "It's six a.m. I'd say you're welcome to shower here, but I'm assuming you'll want to wear something other than my t-shirt to work."

Mentally calculating the time I have to go home and get ready, I flip the covers and practically jump off the mattress. "Yes," I say distractedly, nodding to both him and myself.

"Shame."

I'm not sure if it's his choice of word or his tone of voice, but something in that moment makes me snap my gaze to his... wandering one.

He's staring at my legs.

The legs that I forgot were completely bare.

In an attempt to seem unaffected by this observation, I quirk a brow once his eyes travel back up to meet my own.

I thought he would look sheepish or flustered or maybe even embarrassed, but surprisingly, he smirks.

 _He smirked!_

"You look good in my shirt," he says, shrugging.

Ignoring his statement, I gather my clothes from yesterday and stare at him expectantly. "Well, I'll just get changed and be on my way."

Instead of leaving right away, he takes a few seconds to tilt his head and study me with those mysterious eyes of his. I have no idea what he was searching for or if he even found it, but he takes his cue to exit the room before I can figure it - him - out.

Releasing a huff of air I wasn't aware I was holding, I get changed in record time. Then, carding my fingers through my hair - which is no doubt a messy, tousled mane by now - I square my shoulders and take awkward steps out of the room, wary of the sight that'll greet me.

"More coffee?"

He's leaning against the kitchen island, already dressed in another three-piece suit.

 _The man really knows how to pull off a suit._

Shaking my head, I slowly walk toward the front door. "Thanks, but no thanks. I really should get going..." I watch as he approaches me, his strides smooth and measured. "Um, thank you for everything, though. I really appreciate it."

Reaching past me, he twists the handle and holds the door open for me. "Anytime, detective."

"Call me Ellie," I say, now standing out in the building hall.

 _I did just spend the night in his bed after all._

"Okay, Ellie." He quirks his lips. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon."

Hopefully by then, I'll be back to my usual calm, cool and composed self.

Not to mention, we better have found something to support our case against Brown.

 **A/N: OMG ANOTHER UPDATE! I am loving this progress between Ellie and Barba, but hopefully we'll have progress with the case, too!**

 **I. LOVE. REVIEWS.**


	13. Chapter 13

"He's taunting me."

After rushing home to shower and change, I was halfway to the precinct when I got a call from Liv. Our conversation - if it can even be called that - lasted for less than thirty seconds, but it was more than enough to tell me all I needed to know.

 _Another victim._

 _Raped, tortured, and this time... dead._

Her lifeless blue eyes stare up at nothing, and her long, brown hair is splayed out like a halo around her head. Although she's nearly naked, it's almost as if she's wearing tattered scraps of clothes, as her skin is decorated with bruises, gashes, burns and blood.

And of course, she's wearing red lipstick.

But as I look at her, I'm afforded information that no one else is privy to.

"What makes you say that?" Fin asks, his expression both somber and worried.

 _"_ The lingerie she's wearing..." I slowly crouch down and finger the slight discoloration on the strap of her pale lace bra - a mark that was caused by a hot curling iron on a busy, rushed morning. "It's mine."

 **A/N: SERIOUSLY SHORT CHAPTER, but I wanted to write+upload it as soon as I was able. I hope you liked it nonetheless!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: A longer chapter for you guys! As always, I appreciate your thoughts!**

"He's escalating."

I've been on the job for just over two months, but those two months might as well have been two years.

The number of victims are only growing, but the evidence we seek - the evidence we _need_ \- is somehow always in a state of _insufficient_ or _circumstantial_. It's frustrating. Infuriating. We're all restless and pent up with the aggression and the energy of people who know exactly how helpless they are in a situation that, like a violent storm, they can only vaguely predict but never prevent.

All we can do is wait for it to happen, to wait to assess the damage that we continue to foolishly hope we can somehow fix and mend, repair and restore and return to its original state, to before it was assaulted, brutalized and murdered.

But we know - painfully, tragically, we _know_ \- that those miracles are out of our hands and in those of God.

But God won't be the one to put Brown in prison.

That's our job - one that, as of yet, we've failed to do.

"Liv's right," Fin says, face creased in a frown as he absently cracks his knuckles. "Five vics in the last two months, with two of those five in the past week alone."

"Either he's getting bolder, or this is leading to something bigger that he's got planned."

"What are you thinking?" I ask, though it's really more for confirmation than an answer I don't already think I know.

"You said so yourself: he's taunting you." Nick rubs his chin, only to then cross his arms. "But how long until taunting's no longer enough? How many more victims until he gets his hands on the one he really wants?"

"You mean, me," I say, tensing.

"The first vic appeared your first day here," Rollins adds. "That can't be a coincidence."

"Yeah," Fin nods, "which means he probably kept tabs on you. It's likely his obsession started back in Chicago."

I shake my head. "But that doesn't make sense. He moved to New York almost two years before I ever even thought of leaving Chicago."

"It might've been a necessary move if he thought CPD was close to catching him," Liv says.

I sigh. "So, what do we do? We can't just wait for the next victim to pop up - unless..."

"Unless?" Nick asks, sounding both curious and wary.

All eyes are on me, waiting for me to say what I know they probably won't want to hear. "Unless we know beforehand who his next victim will be?" My words rush out in a single breath, and this time it's me who waits for a response.

It doesn't take long for me to get one.

But it comes from someone I least expected.

"That's not happening," Barba immediately snaps.

His eyes are cold and piercing, somehow burning through my skin whilst making my soul shiver, daring me to object. Before I can, though, I'm interrupted by a shrill, basic, familiar ringtone.

Glancing at the screen of my phone, I murmur a quick _excuse me_ before walking a short distance away. I'm almost to the elevators when I finally pick up the call.

"Erin," I say, and it's both a greeting and a question, because while I've maintained contact with her and the rest of my friends from CPD, we mostly just text or email or talk late at night - never during the day, when both sides are too busy catching criminals to catch up with each other. "What's up?"

"Ellie," she replies, then pauses. But the pause is too long, it stretches and stretches, until the only thing I can hear is the tension bleeding from her end and the worry pounding from mine. "It's Matthew... He's out on parole."

 _Matthew? Parole?_

 _What?_

No," I hear myself mumble. "No... That's... Erin, no." My voice cracks, and I wince. "How? When?"

"Ellie?" Spinning around, I find myself nearly toe-to-toe with Barba. His head is tilted to the side, and his knowing eyes are narrowed slightly, watching me, observing me, _seeing_ me. "Is everything alright?"

I can't do this right now.

"I have to go," I mutter to Erin, then hang up before she can say anything further. Pretending to be busy with pocketing my phone, I take a few seconds to gather what little courage I currently have before meeting his probing gaze. "Everything's fine." And because it comes out weak and unconvincing, I nod firmly and say, "I'm fine."

But I know with every fiber of my being that nothing's fine.

 _I'm_ not fine.

And I'm tired of wondering if it's something I'll ever be.


	15. Chapter 15

_Have I made a mistake?_

Since the day I revealed the victim's lingerie to be my own, the members of the squad both separately and collectively expressed their concerns regarding my safety.

Every single one of them offered to have me stay with them or them with me.

While I voiced my appreciation toward their kindness - because I really, truly did appreciate it - my determination never wavered as I dealt rejection after rejection, because I knew - just as I know now - that I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something were to happen to them or their families because of me.

So, to answer my own question: no, my decision wasn't wrong.

But as I wriggle the knob to my apartment, I instinctively know that _something_ most definitely is.

Because it's not right.

The wonky fit of my key, the loose handle as it twists, and the sound of the door as I slowly push it open...

 _None of it is right._

But why? _How?_

Adding to the fact that I changed and upgraded my locks, I've been living in a hotel these past few weeks - mostly to put my squad at relative ease, but also because the knowledge that Brown has been inside my apartment, touching my things and doing God knows what, left me shaken. And if he's been watching me all this time, he has absolutely no reason to think that I would be here at my place instead of at the hotel - a spontaneous decision on my part.

I've only stopped by to grab some extra clothes, after all.

But then... maybe that's what he planned on. Maybe he thought the apartment would be empty, and he would be free to steal whatever the hell he wants - hell, he could've rolled around in my bed for all I know!

My gun is already in my hand and steadied out in front of me. And I'm confident that, should he try anything, I'll be ready to shoot him.

Except, when I finally enter my apartment, it's not the sight of an intruder that shocks me, as that was a sight I was well prepared for.

No, it's the identity of the intruder that has me paling, blood draining from my face and sense abandoning my brain.

"Careful where you aim that, baby. You might just end up hurting yourself."

 _No, this can't be happening._

But of course, it is.

"Matt."

 **A/N: Uh oh... Someone broke into Ellie's apartment, and it's not Brown, but Matt! And for Ellie, that might just be even worse.**

 **P.S. Thank you to those who consistently leave comments (you know who you are!). They (you) make me so so happy!**


	16. Chapter 16

"Miss me?"

 _Miss him?_

I've come this far - New York, to be exact - in what I thought was a liberating move from the past I'd do anything to forget.

But it's obvious to see that my past won't let go of me so easily - if ever.

Because here I am, and here he is - my past, standing here in the flesh, invading my home and my life and beating down what little progress I've made with the same cruel relentlessnes that he used to beat _me_.

And all I want to do is run away. Again. Because that's exactly what I did when I left Chicago.

"What are you doing here?" I finally force myself to say, swallowing a painful gulp of air down my suddenly dry throat.

Why is he here? _How_ is he here?

He's on parole, just recently out of prison, and yet, somehow, for a reason I don't think I truly want to know, he's _here._

"What?" He feigns hurt and brings a hand to his chest, just above the heart I know he doesn't have. "Not even a _hello_?"

No, because I hoped - God, I _hoped_ \- that him in a Chicago cell and me in a New York precinct would mean goodbye.

For good.

"I'll shoot you," I say, when I notice him take a step toward me. My warning comes out shaky, though, just like the trembling in my hands. "Get out of my apartment right fucking now, or I swear to God, I'll shoot you."

"Okay," he says, laughing as he raises his arms in a surrendering posture. "Then shoot me."

He doesn't believe me, but I don't blame him.

Because I don't believe me either.

 _What's wrong with me?_

When I believed Brown to be inside my apartment, I was anxious, yes, but I was also ready to do whatever it took to get him in cuffs, whether that meant burying bullets in his flesh or kicking him straight in the balls. The thought of a serial rapist/killer - who, might I add, just so happens to be obsessed with me - waiting for me in my home didn't scare me. At least, not like this. Not to this extent. Not to the point where I returned to being a weak, spineless girl.

But for some reason, Matt still does - scare me, that is.

Old habits die hard, I guess, because when in his presence, I was nothing if not weak and spineless.

And now I can barely even hold my gun, let alone shoot it.

"Go ahead," he continues when I fail to speak or act or do anything besides despair at the person I realize I never stopped being. Grabbing my shaking hand in his much larger fist, he levels the gun until its muzzle is pressed against his skin, right between his brows. "Pull the trigger, Ellie."

"Get out," I croak, my voice now low and hoarse and barely audible.

The glint in his eyes is the only warning I get.

Suddenly, I'm on the ground, and I don't know how much time passes, but every second of it is spent in a blur of familiar violence.

I don't know how I do it.

Kicking him in the knee - which I probably only pulled off because he expected me to lie still and take whatever he threw my way, like I always did back then - I watch with a blooming satisfaction as he loses his balance and stumbles to the ground.

Before he can react, I'm on my feet. And for once, it's me towering over him this time. Me who has the power.

"I won't say it again." My gun is held between both hands now, and I know - I _know_ \- that if he makes one wrong move, I _will_ shoot him this time. I will.

He must know it, too.

Slowly, he rises to a stand.

"I just wanted to see you, Ells. I missed you, you know." He smirks, wiping his hands on his jeans, smearing them with my blood. "I'll leave for now, but know that I _will_ be back - and next time, you'll be coming home with me. Because you belong in Chicago. With me. To me. I own you, babe. Don't forget it."

Then he's gone.

And even though my ribs are aching and my lungs are burning, as I slump against the wall and look around my now messy apartment, I feel I can finally _breathe_.

Because he's no longer here.

Because I'm now alone.

Except, for once, just for this moment... I don't want to be alone.

 **A/N: I'm crying.**


	17. Chapter 17

I don't know why I came here.

After the whole fainted-in-a-bar-then-slept-in-his-bed incident, we've had exactly one night of drinks together - which included Liv and Fin - shared a few lunches here and there - always during some sort of meeting with the rest of the squad - and drank enough coffee to resurrect the dead - coffee breaks with just the two of us, though, occurred less than five times.

Needless to say, there were definitely no more sleepovers at his condo.

And yet, that's exactly where I am right now. In front of his door. At... something o'clock at night - which just so happens to be the approximate time I met him at the bar. You know, before I passed out as a humbling result of exhaustion.

I knock.

Twice.

And then I turn away, because I'm finally beginning to regain some of the sense that abandoned me at the first sight of Matt, which means I'm starting to realize just how much of a mistake this was.

 _What was I thinking?_

But of course, I know, I wasn't thinking at all.

However, before I can take a meager three steps away from what can only end in regret, I hear the door open.

In that moment, my body - my bruised, bleeding, aching body - tenses. Freezes. Waiting this time not for a blow or a strike, but for his voice.

"Ellie?"

 _Damn it._

What is it about his voice?

Up until this very second, all I felt was the lingering effects of Matt's fists, his shoes, his taunting words and his burning glare.

Now I feel nothing but the sudden, unexpected urge to cry.

But I can't let that happen. Not here. Not now. Not with him standing less than a metre away.

So, without turning around, I manage to say, "I'm sorry. I should go."

I've barely shifted my feet when he appears before me, blocking my escape.

"Ellie."

And then in just a blink's time, he's ushering me into his condo with a firm hold and a gentle grip, refusing to let go until we're both seated on his smooth, leather couch.

I flinch when he cradles my tender cheek, which causes him to wince at my obvious display of discomfort.

"Talk to me, Ellie. Please," he says, forcing me to meet his eyes with my own. "What happened?"

I can feel my blood boiling just beneath the surface of my skin, because I realize how horrifying I must look right now.

Truthfully, _I_ don't even know how I look right now.

I wasn't exactly in the frame of mind to check my appearance or clean myself up after Matt left. I just didn't want to be alone. And then I started walking. And then I ended up here.

Now rhat I think about it, I'm not even sure I locked my door.

And I can only imagine what the passersby thought as they glanced at me, what with my head down, shoulders hunched, struggling to breathe, limping ever so slightly, eyes blank and unseeing, and mind hopelessly lost.

"I... I-"

The first tear falls, and then the next.

And before I know it, I do something I haven't done in so long, I convinced myself I could no longer do it if I tried.

I cry.

 **A/N: still crying.**


	18. Chapter 18

In the next second, I'm locked in Barba's embrace, my forehead resting against his shoulder. Stroking my hair and the low of my back, he murmurs soft words that I'm unable to decipher. And I'm not sure how long we stay like that, but by the time I pull back, I can see that his shirt is soaked with my tears.

"I'm sorry," I say, feeling too embarrassed to look at him.

"Ellie." With a gentle grip of his fingers, he forces my chin up until I have no choice but to meet his waiting stare. I'm not sure what I see in his eyes - _worry? concern? affection?_ \- but the sight brings a pang to my chest, hitting me in a way that Matt never could. "I need you to tell me what happened."

Slowly, I nod, because interrupting his night of rest probably means I owe him that much.

Trying my best to get myself together, I release a shaky exhale. "My ex," I say, as if that explains everything. Though I notice his body tense at my words, he doesn't say anything, instead waiting for me to elaborate. So, I do. And it comes pouring out in a broken rush, as if the walls I spent so long building brick by brick have just crashed and settled and faded into dust, and I find myself feeling liberated in a way I never thought I'd achieve. "He was supposed to be in prison. He _was_ in prison. But I got a call from a friend recently... said he got out on parole."

"The call you got during our meeting at the precinct?"

I jerk my chin down, confirming his question with a single nod. "He should have been in Chicago, but instead, I found him waiting for me inside my apartment." I internally debate on whether to tell him about my moment of weakness, of when I held the gun in my hand, unable to shoot it. "At first, when I noticed something was wrong with my locks, I thought it was Brown that broke in..."

"You noticed something was wrong, but you went in anyway?" He sounds appalled, and even I can admit how stupid I was.

I don't bother with a direct answer, since we both know his question was rhetoric. "I took my gun out from my holster. I wanted to take him down - and I was ready to do it. But then... But then I saw him. Matt. And suddenly, the gun in my hand became useless. _I_ became useless," I say, though my chuckle falls flat and sounds harsh. "You can see how that ended up for me."

"What made him leave?" he asks, and I can tell he's trying to keep calm for my sake.

"I did. After..." _After he beat me senseless._ "After a while, I did. But he said he'd be back. He plans on having me return to Chicago with him."

He shakes his head. "Ellie, you have to report this."

"I know." And I _will_. But for now... "I should go."

"You're not going anywhere - not tonight, anyway."

"It's fine. I've been staying at a hotel. The only reason I stopped by my place was to get some extra cl-" I was in the middle of standing up, ready to walk myself out the door, but the sudden pain that shoots through my ribs has me falling back on the couch with a soft, barely audible thud.

Once again, I'm reminded of how difficult it is to breathe.

"Ellie?"

I open my mouth, about to say something or anything to ease his obvious concern, but it snaps closed as I wince. "I'm fine."

"Where else are you hurt?" he says, instantly dismissing my lie.

 _Everywhere._

"I don't know." At his arched brow and no-nonsense look, I say, "I don't. Not really. I didn't check myself out before coming here."

"At the risk of sounding like the criminals I put away..."

 _Why do I get the feeling I won't like what he says next?_

"...Take your clothes off. Now."

 **A/N: Shoutout to Anna Becker - you said my updates make your day, but your comment has made mine!**

 **And thanks to all of you for sticking around and reading this story. I know that I wouldn't have continued if not for your support, which would've been a shame because this has only reminded me of how much I love writing!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Get ready for my longest chapter yet!**

 _Take your clothes off. Now._

"Barba-"

"Rafael."

"I - what?"

"Rafael," he repeats, his voice low. "It's only fair you call me by my name if I call you by yours."

"Right. Okay. Well, Rafael..." At the sound of his name falling from my lips, his eyes darken considerably, causing me to falter for just a second. "I really am fine-"

"Ellie," he cuts me off promptly, swiftly, as if we're engaging in a courtroom and not sitting side-by-side on his living room couch. "Either you take your clothes off, or I take them off for you. Your choice."

 _Which we both know isn't much of a choice at all._

It's really not, and yet, still, I take my time to mull it over. Eventually, I decide on the less humiliating option. Slowly - and not without reluctance - I work the buttons of my blouse until a vertical strip of skin from my neck to my hips becomes bare and visible. Already, just by the renewed tension in his body, I can tell it's not pretty. Not to mention, I have similar images seared into my memory from past experiences with Matt. Ignoring the wave of vulnerability that damn near drowns me on the spot, I slide my shirt off my shoulders and pull my arms out of the sleeves.

My wince as I do so doesn't go unnoticed.

I don't look at him, but I can feel him looking at me.

"How long did he hurt you?" he says, finally breaking the silence.

I'm just not sure what exactly he's asking.

 _H_ _ow long did he hurt me today? Or how long did he hurt me over the days, months, years?_

Both, maybe.

"I started dating him in my junior year of high school - though, he was a senior." I pause, wondering how much to divulge. "At first, things were great. _He_ was great. Kind. Caring. Affectionate... Basically, he was everything I was deprived of at home, which made me think he was everything I wanted, needed.

"He got more possessive of me when he graduated - not too extreme, considering he went to the community college - but that was nothing compared to when _I_ graduated and went to the University of Chicago. He changed... Or he wasn't who I thought he was." I pause again, but this time, it's because I'm locked in my own memories, sifting through them and hopelessly watching, as if I'm helpless to prevent a tragic accident that I just _know_ is inevitable. "He became more jealous, more aggressive. Almost paranoid. He constantly thought I was cheating on him. And when I denied his accusations... Well, he didn't believe me. And so, he punished me.

"It started out with just yelling, but over time, he just... escalated. It wasn't long before he made a habit of physically abusing me, beating me so hard that I could barely stand by the time he was done. Sometimes, I blacked out. And then, one time... One time, I believed he was really going to kill me. I was conscious enough to fear for my life. So, I called the police. They helped me. They _saved_ me. It's because of them that I was able to become who I am and be where I am today."

"And then he showed up," he says, jaw clenching and eyes burning with anger - anger that I'm too glad isn't directed at me.

"And then he showed up," I repeat. Suddenly feeling tired, drained, _exhausted_ , I shake my head and sigh. "Anyway, maybe now you'll believe me when I say I'm fine. I've had much worse done to me before."

"I believe you when you say you've had worse, but I don't believe you're fine. In fact, I know you're not." Abruptly, he stands up, making me angle my head to look up at him. "Don't move."

He reappears within a minute, bringing with him a familiar cotton shirt. He only stays long enough to pull it over my head before disappearing once again. Then he returns within what seems like seconds, but this time, he's holding a bag of ice wrapped in a thin kitchen towel. Wordlessly, he instructs me to hold the bag to my throbbing abdomen, after which he gently grips my elbows and pulls me to a shaky stand.

Which is great, because my body is really crashing from the adrenaline now, and I doubt I'd be able to support my own weight.

As if proving my own point, as soon as he lets go, my knees buckle.

Fortunately, he catches me right before I can fall flat on my face.

The pathetic state of my body has his brows furrowing in concern, but there's also a glint of amusement in his eyes - a sight that, after relaying one of the darkest parts of my past, makes me more appreciative of it than usual. "Yeah, definitely not going anywhere tonight," he says, and I can't tell if his comment is directed at me or muttered to himself.

Before I can ask - not that I would have - he hoists me up into his arms, one hand beneath my thighs, and the other around my shoulders, cradling me as delicately as if I were a baby.

And before I can protest - which I'm not sure I would have done - I find myself on top of his firm yet soft mattress, lying between his clean, white sheets.

Then before he can leave - which he clearly planned to do - I grip his wrist with what little strength I have left, prompting him to turn around and eye me with a questioning quirk of his brow.

"Bar - I mean, Rafael... Stay with me?"

 **A/N: I love vulnerable Ellie - especially when Barba's around to witness it. Gives me the feels. Ellie will thank me later.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: This update is a bit on the late side, considering the frequent updates of my recent chapters, but hey, I got it done! I just had some stuff going on, plus a little writer's block, plus a slight decline in both inspiration and motivation. But I did it for you guys! Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

I'm awake - I have been for the past few minutes now - but instead of blinking my eyes open, I tightly squeeze them shut until I see fireworks behind my eyelids. Even then, though, I keep them closed, because almost every part of my body is sore and throbbing, and I just don't have it in me to face reality just yet, as that would mean I'd have to acknowledge _why_ I'm sore and throbbing, and _why_ I'm in Barba's - Rafael's - bed with my back to Barba's - Rafael's - chest.

Except, Reality was never known to be patient.

And I was never really an idealist.

Which brings me to my current predicament of lying stiffly on my side, mentally browsing through the memories of last night.

Of when I asked Rafael to stay with me.

I like to think it wasn't reluctance but rather hesitance that slowed his reaction to my request. When the words slipped out of my mouth, we were both caught off guard, and so we just stared at each other, blinking blankly. And then he left - an action that I perceived to mean he _left._ But then he came back - this time with two pills of painkillers and a clear glass of water - both of which I dutifully swallowed. And then he turned off the lights. And then... And then he got into bed beside me, lying far enough away to avoid any misunderstandings of where the night would lead, but close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off of his body, and savor the way it seemed to seep into mine.

"Good night, Ellie," he said.

"Good night, Rafael," I replied, my voice a mere soft whisper.

And then I woke up this morning to realize our intimate position - though I still refuse to wonder who migrated toward who - and now here I am, unsure of how to proceed.

Do I wake him? Do I try to slip out unnoticed? Do I get out of the bed and _then_ wake him?

 _Ugh. My head's starting to hurt again, too._

Slowly, silently, I do my best to stealthily remove his arm from around my waist. I immediately still when his grip tightens for what feels like an eternity but is probably about a nanosecond, but promptly relax when I finally manage to sit up on the edge of the bed.

With an inaudible sigh of relief, I look over my shoulder to see Rafael still sleeping, his hair a little mussed, his lashes fanning the tops of his cheeks, and his face completely free of the usual scowl and worry lines I'm used to seeing. He looks relaxed. Younger, even... Actually, now that I think about it, I don't even know exactly how old he is. I just assumed he was in his late thirties to early forties?... I make a mental note to google him later - because, of course, I can't just ask him directly like a normal human being might.

"Sneaking out on me already?"

I nearly jump out of my own skin when I hear him. His eyes still appear a little groggy, but they're definitely open - and staring at me. And even in his half-asleep state, the corner of his lips are quirked in what I recognize as one of his secretive smirks.

"How long were you awake?" I ask, my voice a higher pitch than usual - unlike his, which I noticed is more low and gritty at the moment.

"Not long." _Thank god_ , because knowing he was awake while I awkwardly tried to remove myself from his hold would be too embarrassing. Actually, just knowing that he knew about our intimate proximity would be too embarrassing. "Just long enough to witness your obvious internal turmoil."

Right. Of course. Great.

"Oh." I nod, pretending not to notice the flush rising in my cheeks. "Well, I should-"

"Get going," he finishes for me, and his smirk widens just a bit. "You know, if you keep saying that, I might just think you don't want to be around me."

 _Yeah, right._

"I need to get to work," I say instead.

His smirk falls, and there are those worry lines again. "You've had a long night. You should take the day off - or better yet, the week."

I shake my head at his suggestion, but almost whimper when the motion triggers a familiar pounding in my skull. _One day won't hurt._ Plus, I can still work from home - well, the hotel. "I'll take the day off," I confirm, which elicits his clear approval, "but I should still leave. I've taken up enough of your time and space... Thank you, by the way."

He waves his hand dismissively. "Sleep a little longer. It's only four a.m."

 _Sleep a little longer? In his bed? With him? Surely in the sense of the morning - four o'clock or not - things are a little different. Awkward. Uncomfortable?_

"Stop thinking, Ellie. Just sleep."

"I... Okay."


	21. Chapter 21

There are a few things I realize when I finally wake up:

1) I'm still in Rafael's bed.

2) I'm alone in Rafael's bed.

3) Judging by the shade of the sky outside his floor-to-ceiling window, it's no longer morning.

4) He has left me another two pills and a full glass of water on his nightstand.

5) He has also written a note that says I'm free to make myself at home.

6) ...

Well, I assumed my observations until this point meant that Rafael is not currently present in the condo, but I swear I heard what sounded like footsteps just a second ago - which might not be a good thing, considering I now hear the door opening and shutting, and now there is _another_ pair of footsteps, along with some hushed whispers that are really closer to hushed yelling.

Fortunately, at least one of the voices are familiar. And the topic of their conversation instantly shuts down my theory that I've been caught in the middle of a home invasion.

Unfortunately, that topic appears to be me.

"Mami, is everything alright? You said there was an emergency. Is it abuelita? What's wrong with her apartment now? I knew we should've-"

"Ay, Dios mio, Rafi, you talk too much," an older woman - at least, that's what she sounds like - scolds.

"I'm a lawyer, mami."

"Don't change the subject, mijo."

"But-"

"No," she cuts him off again. "There is a girl in your bed! How could you! You don't introduce your girlfriend to your own mother?"

 _Oh no._

Hurriedly, I rush out of the bed, and after running my fingers through my no doubt messy hair, I practically sprint out of the room.

Of course, I forgot I'm wearing nothing but my underwear and Rafael's shirt.

Of course, I also forgot the ugly, battered state of my body.

Of course, I realize too late what I look like - what _this_ looks like.

Both their heads snap toward me before I can sneak back into his room.

"Um, hello..."

The corner of Rafael's mouth lifts. "Ellie. You're still here."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I just woke up and before I could-"

"Ay-ay-ay, what happened to you, nina?"

"Oh, um..."

"Mami, this is Detective Ellie Parker from SVU," Rafael interjects, which I'm immediately grateful for.

"Ooh, an office romance? Rafi, I didn't know you had it in you," she says, almost giddily.

"She got hurt on the job," he instantly says, and I find myself feeling immensely relieved that he lied about my injuries. I don't exactly want to get into all of that again, especially in front of his mother.

"And you're taking care of her?" She turns to me, a hand on her chest. "So sweet, my hijo."

"Actually, my apartment flooded," I say, quickly thinking of my own lie to spin, "and your son kindly offered for me to stay the night."

"Oh, so no office romance?" Her shoulders drop in disappointment, but then perk right back up in the next moment. "Surely it will take more than one night for your apartment to clear?"

 _Why did I say my apartment flooded again? Oh, right, because I didn't want to tell her my psycho ex broke in and attacked me._

 _Dammit, I should've thought of a better a lie. I'm a detective, for God's sake!_

"Mami, shouldn't you be on your way? It's getting dark," Rafael, again, saves my ass.

There's a knowing glint in her eyes - one that I'm almost certain is misplaced. "Of course, of course. I'll leave you two alone," she says, and I swear I can hear a wink in her voice. Gathering her purse, she begins walking toward the door. "Take good care of her, Rafi. And call me in the morning." Somehow, I get the feeling their morning call is going to be about me.

Shooting us one last grin, she leaves.

And then it's my turn to smirk. "So... _Rafi_?"

* * *

 **A/N: I love Barba's (Rafi's) mom.**


	22. Chapter 22

"Sorry, I'm late!"

I took the day off yesterday because 1) I didn't feel like arguing against a lawyer, and 2) because I knew I genuinely needed the break. Unfortunately, the pain has barely lessened - if at all - and the bruises have only worsened - enough to make even _me_ gasp at my own reflection in the bathroom mirror this morning.

Hence why I'm late.

Because there was no way I was going to take yet another day off.

But there was also no way I was going to go to work with my face looking the way it did.

So I had to go to the local drugstore with the sole objective of buying some makeup, because the only makeup I ever wear is mascara and, depending on the occasion, lipstick - both of which wouldn't help me in this case.

I'm not convinced the concealer has done a perfect job - the shade itself is a far from perfect match to my pale skin tone - but at least the ripening blotches are considerably less noticeable than before. I'll just have to make sure no one gets too close of a look.

Which is why I don't meet any of my coworker's eyes for more than a passing second, and even as I apologize, my head is ducked down - which, hopefully, they'll think is just a gesture of shame at my own tardiness.

"Don't worry about it," Fin says. "You haven't missed anything."

In a way, I kind of wish I _did_ miss something.

And by _something_ , I mean anything that would help us with our case against Brown.

Because at this point, we don't even _have_ a case - and we all know it.

"Ellie, can I see you for a moment?" Olivia asks, holding the door to her office open.

Nodding, I follow her in and let the door shut behind me. We're both seated at either side of her desk, and she's staring at me with a slight tilt to her head.

That tilt tells me all I need to know: she didn't call me in to reprimand me for being late.

She called me in to ask me about _why_ I'm late.

I'd really rather she just reprimand me.

"In the months that you've been here," she finally starts, "you've never once been late, let alone taken a day off. Then, yesterday, you take a sick leave, and today, you show up ten minutes late when you're never later than ten minutes early."

"I'm sorry, lieutenant. It won't happen again," I say earnestly.

She shakes her head. "You know it's Liv. And I'm not here to reprimand you, Ellie."

 _A girl can hope._

Feigning ignorance, I furrow my brows ever so slightly, silently urging her to explain.

"You're not the first one to use makeup to hide something," she says, her face softening with empathy.

Except this time, I'm not able to fully appreciate it.

Because it makes me feel like one of the many victims that drop by our precinct.

"I..." I don't know what to say, but thankfully, she quickly cuts in.

"I won't force you to tell me anything you don't want to tell, but I will ask you this," she pauses, a glint of seriousness hardening her eyes, "Are you in any trouble?"

Immediately, almost instinctively, I shake my head. "No-"

My phone beeps with a notification, and, grateful for the interruption, I shoot her an apologetic glance before checking my phone. It's a text from an unknown number, and when I open it, my heart drops, because staring back at me is a photo of, well, _me_. Me leaving the hotel. Me drinking cheap coffee. Me walking out of Rafael's condo...

And suddenly, I realize I have to tell her the truth.

Or, at the very least, part of it.

I sigh, meeting her curious gaze. "... I might be."

* * *

 **A/N: As always, thank you for the reviews, guys! They make my day!**


	23. Chapter 23

"Hi, is the ADA still in?" I ask Rafael's secretary, trying not to feel disappointed at the sight of her clearing her desk and packing her purse.

"He is," she nods, a polite smile on her face, "you can head right in, Detective."

With the knowledge that Rafael is indeed still here, a shot of both relief and anxiety spikes inside me. Wanting to get this over with, I watch her leave before stepping up to his closed door. For a few seconds, I do nothing but stand there, wondering if I should've just called him. But I know he deserves to hear it in person. And besides, this is professional, right? I mean, it _is_ his office. Taking a deep breath, I knock a quick two-staccato rhythm.

"Come in," I hear his voice call out.

Slowly, I open the door, and silently, I step inside.

He's hunched over his desk, eyes narrowed in concentration as he ruffles through the documents spread out on the wooden surface. He has yet to look up when he says, "Is there something you needed, Carmen?"

"Um..." His head snaps up at my voice, and I awkwardly quirk my lips when our eyes meet. "Hi."

"Ellie." He, too, smiles ever so slightly before his brows furrow in confusion. "Has there been a breakthrough with the Brown case?" He sounds a little hopeful, and I can't blame him. We've been told that, without any concrete evidence, the _Brown case_ will be dismissed faster than we can refill a cup of coffee. Well, it wasn't said _exactly_ like that, but we all got the point.

I shake my head. "Actually, I'm here for a more personal matter."

Arching a curious brow, he leans back into his chair. "Are we going to need some scotch for this conversation?"

I shrug. "It can't hurt."

He nods and, reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulls out a half-empty bottle of scotch and two clean glasses. But instead of staying seated, he rounds the desk until he's standing just barely off to the side in front of me. Pouring us each two fingers of the amber liquid, he sits on the edge of his desk and watches me as I take a sip - okay, a gulp - before he, too, brings the glass to his lips.

For the first few moments, neither of us say a word. All we do is sip and stare, and it's during this time that I'm able to fully appreciate the sight of his shirt sleeves rolled up neatly to his elbows; the prominent veins on his strong, tan forearms; his sleek suspenders and his loosened tie... The ADA that wears his suits like armor is letting me see him in what might be considered a more vulnerable state - an observation that has my heart thudding uncomfortably.

"It's about Matt," I finally say.

He tenses. "Your ex?" At my nod, his face darkens with a muted rage. "Has he approached you again? Did he hurt you?"

"No." Instantly, his stance softens with evident relief, but it once again stiffens when I say, "Well..."

"Well?"

"I've been getting texts - photos, mostly."

A pause. "What kind of photos?"

"Pictures that indicate I've been watched and followed."

"So, you have a stalker." It's not a question.

I nod. "Which is why there are also photos of me entering and leaving your condo."

Following another swig of scotch, he tilts his head and sears me with his gaze. "Why do I get the feeling that's not all you're here to tell me?"

"Because it's not," I confirm, sighing. "Some of the texts are a little threatening, to say the least. He thinks I'm... _involved_ with you." Shaking my head, I come to an abrupt stand and gently place my now empty glass on a clear area of his desk. "I came here because I thought you had a right to know, and because I wanted to apologize. I'm so sorry I dragged you into this, Rafael. Whether I did it consciously or not doesn't matter, because now you might be in danger because of me. I'll be sure to keep my distance from now on, though, so hopefully that'll be enough to get him to back off... I probably shouldn't even be here right now." Releasing a tired exhale, I tousle my hair - an action that I recognize as a nervous habit. "Again, I'm really sorry. I just wanted to tell you in person."

Finished with the ramblings that I hope he accepts as the apology I meant it to be, I'm about to take my leave when, to my surprise, a grip on my wrist halts me in my tracks. He tugs me forward until I'm standing directly in front of him, our chests almost touching.

"He thinks we're involved."

Again, not a question.

I nod, anyway.

"Okay," he says. _Okay?... And i_ _s his face getting closer, or am I imagining it? "_ Let him."

I'm definitely not imagining the press of his lips against mine.

* * *

 **A/N: Yay! Their relationship is evolving :))))))**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: WARNING - MATURE CHAPTER BELOW.** **It's not _too_ detailed or explicit - because I didn't feel it necessary - but in case any of you dislike or are offended by any and all sexual content, I am giving you a heads up. **

I don't know what happened.

Well, I mean, _I do_ , but I'm just... processing.

Because before I could register either of our movements, our lips were kissing, nibbling, our tongues tangled and dancing. His hands were cradling my cheek, my jaw, the nape of my neck, while my fingers dug into his back, his shoulders, his previously neat, slicked hair.

Then it was _me_ who was perched atop the edge of his desk, with him standing in the V of my legs - legs which wasted no time wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer, crushing us together until we could feel the beat of each other's heart, as well as every line, curve and ridge of each other's bodies.

Our clothes were hastily and messily unbuttoned and ruffled. In a single thrust, he was inside me, and I felt him everywhere: the column of my throat, the shell of my ear, the peaks of my chest, the bundle of nerves below my mound. Heat rapidly spread from within me, luring a flush to the surface of my skin. It wasn't long before the pressure inside me built and elevated, eventually combusting in an explosion of pleasure.

And now...

Now, his forehead is resting against mine, our still unsteady breaths mingling together. His hands move from my hips to my waist to my face, and gently, he brushes a loose lock of hair to behind my ear, only for his fingers to fall to my cheek, where they stroke the blush I can feel is only growing hotter.

The air is filled and loaded with... something I've yet to identify. It's not awkward or uncomfortable, though. If anything, it's almost peaceful. But there are unspoken words hovering and lingering, weighing down the atmosphere and lulling us into a dream-like state.

I'm the first one to break tbe silence.

"I didn't come here to seduce you, you know."

Leaning back just enough to get a good look at my face - and give me a good look at his - he smirks. "And here I thought it was me who did the seducing."

His words tug at the corner of my - probably swollen - lips, but it soon falls as I start to think about the potential consequences of our actions, effectively sobering me up from the lustful haze that was clouding my mind.

For the first few months after Matt went to prison, I spent many of my nights committed to meaningless flings and one-night-stands. I thought I deserved to let loose, as I was finally free from the man who kept me trapped in a "relationship" that was nothing but toxic, manipulative, and abusive in almost every way. I believed that sleeping with random men I didn't care about - men who didn't have the power over me that Matt had - would provide me with a sense of empowered fulfillment. Instead, the end of each affair had me feeling... nothing. Empty. Void.

The last time I slept with someone was over two years ago.

I mean, it's not as if I never thought about it - my attraction to Rafael was obvious from the first day we met - but I had other things to focus on. Like finding the evidence needed to put an end to the murders of blue-eyed brunettes - victims who now seem to serve as a taunting message meant for me - and finally send Brown behind bars where he belongs. And then there was the incident with Matt and the texts and once again being reminded of how crazy and irrational my ex really is...

 _Speaking of..._

"I meant what I said, Rafael," I say quietly, sighing.

"About what?" he says, voice equally low.

"Everything."

Tilting his head in the way that he so often does, his clear green eyes appear to see through to my soul. "How do we know it's him?"

"Apart from his parting words at my apartment and the texts I can't read without hearing his voice?" I can't help the sarcasm that laces my tone, but fortunately, he doesn't seem to mind. Plus, he recongizes that my question was rhetorical, so he doesn't bother with a reply, and I don't bother waiting for one. "Well, the messages came through a burner phone, so we don't have concrete proof, but Matt missed his check-in with his parole officer. No one knows where he is. Which means-"

"You could be in danger."

"Possibly, but it also means _you_ could be in danger."

"Possibly."

I shake my head. "Rafael..."

Catching me by surprise, he pecks me on the lips. Then, pulling away, he stares at me with such tenderness that both my throat and chest tighten painfully. "I'm a prosecutor, Ellie. I've faced threats before. The only difference is that, this time, it's not me I'm worried about."

"You should be-"

"Sue me if you wish, Detective, but I'm not letting you go."

 **A/N: I know this might feel like 0-100 real quick, but they've been flirting around each other for months now (plus, the girl has been in his bed on more than one occasion) and I wanted the buildup to explode in a " _finally" moment._ This was also a development I needed to happen so that my future chapters can unfold more naturally.** **Hope you guys understand!**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: FINALLY. Sorry for the late-ish update, guys - I've just been so insanely busy recently :( Nonetheless, I did it! It's here! Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Something doesn't feel right.

It has only been a few days since I last showed up at my apartment, realizing too little too late that Matt was inside my own living room, waiting to remind me of _the good old days._ And it was just my luck for him to show up when I needed to re-stock on fresh sets of clothes. Of course, it wasn't luck - or lack thereof - but rather lack-of-sense caused by mental-breakdown caused by physical-assault caused by abusive-psycho-ex-AKA-Matt that had me heading straight to Rafael's without the damn clothes I originally stopped by for.

Which means that I, for the past few days, had to rotate clothes that I'd already worn.

Of course, I could've been a normal, logical, respectable human being and decided to visit the local laundromat or even the dry cleaner's - but who has the time for that? Certainly, not me.

Not these days, anyway.

So, here I am, back at the scene of the crime, standing in front of my apartment door.

 _God, this feels like deja vu._

Because once again...

 _Something doesn't feel right._

I mean, yes, the door is properly closed and locked - with the upgraded replacement locks, no less - but I just _know_ something is off.

I'm just not sure if this instinct - this gut feeling - belongs to Ellie Parker or Detective Parker.

Regardless of whose it is, it's real, it exists, and it's currently blowing sirens in my ears and waving giant red flags. So, like last time, I bring my gun to my side and slowly unlock the door.

Immediately, I have the violent urge to throw up.

The smell is familiar - one I've learned to recognize during my days in CPD's Homicide Unit. It's unforgettable. Unmistakable.

 _Death_.

Then I see him.

And this time, he's not able to glare at me or smirk at me. He's unable to taunt me or beat me.

He can no longer threaten to drain me of my will, because here he sits before me, so obviously drained of his own life.

He's gone - no, he's _here_.

But he's dead.

 _Matt's dead._

* * *

 **A/N: Dun, dun, dun.**


	26. Chapter 26

After discovering Matt's corpse inside my apartment, it only took a few short moments before I began to move on autopilot. I called the police, waited for them to show up - which I don't think was very long at all - stood off to the side as the investigators canvassed my home and gathered evidence, answered the standard questions that the detectives were obliged to ask me, and then stared blankly as Matt was carried off on a stretcher, a thin sheet covering him from head to toe.

Now I'm at the precinct because... Well, where else would I go?

Besides, I've decided that Liv should probably be informed of this particular... event.

"What is it you wanted to talk to me about, Ellie?"

Her hands are folded together atop her sturdy desk, and though she keeps her voice soft and casual, I can feel her concern as if she were shouting at me, shaking my shoulders and demanding me to tell her what's wrong.

"Matt's dead."

Being direct is always best, isn't it?

Her brows raise in evident surprise. "Dead?"

"Well, murdered." I pause, though I'm not exactly sure why I bother. "I found him in my apartment, bound to a chair. Dead for at least a couple of days."

"Cause of death?"

"Stabbed. Multiple times. It's how I know he wasn't killed inside my home. There wasn't enough blood present."

"Any suspects?"

I shake my head. "None that I know of. Not yet, at least."

She releases a low exhale, regarding me with a tilt to her head. "And how are you feeling about all of this?"

"Honestly... I don't know," I say, shrugging. "Confused, scared... Relieved. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad he's finally gone - with no chance of returning this time."

She nods, silently empathizing with my confession. "Do you need a place to stay? You know you're always welcome in my home, Ellie."

I give her a small smile. "I'll be fine. But thank you, Liv. I appreciate it."

Just then, the sound of a knock has both our heads swinging toward the door, which Nick is currently holding open. "Barba's here."

At that, we both nod and swiftly exit her office, because as far as I know, SVU didn't call the ADA. And so I assume his unexpected presence can only mean bad news.

As if I don't have enough of that already.

He's standing, which means he doesn't plan to stay long - again, can't be good.

I saw him just last night in his office, where the acquaintance I intended to sever only progressed into a relationship of an intimate level. It feels almost strange to look at him now, after all that has happened between us less than 24 hours ago, after we bared ourselves to each other in more than one way. And yet, still, the sight of him wearing his grey suit - the one I've decided is my favorite on him - with his prim suspenders and striped tie has my heart skipping a beat or two, then stopping altogether when those pretty green eyes of his find my wandering gaze and just... stare, captivating me in that way he so effortlessly manages to do.

"Barba," Liv starts, a hand resting on her hip, "what's the occasion?"

Sighing, his eyes bounce across all members of the squad. "Adam Brown," he says, pausing for a beat. "I've been instructed to drop the case."

All at once, a flurry of scoffs and jumbled comments are made and released.

"That's ridiculous. We know it's him," Fin says.

"So you say," Rafael nods impatiently, "and I'm not saying I don't believe you, but as I've told you mutiple times now, I need more than just your word - I need proof. And with the evidence we currently have - which even you must admit is more of nothing than something - I can't even get him in front of a jury, let alone actually win."

"So, what, we just sit and do nothing while he has his fun with victim after victim?" Nick frowns, crossing his arms. "That's it? We just let him get away with it?"

Rafael's eyes flash with a spark of emotion that I'm not sure is anger or impatience or frustration. "That is what tends to happen with criminals when the justice system fails to incarcerate them." A silence follows the whip and crackle of his statement, but after a few lengthy seconds, his shoulders sag just an inch. "Look, I'm sorry, detectives. I want him behind bars as much as you, but it is what it is. We just have to accept that. And I'm sure I don't have to remind you that anything beyond proper evidence obtained through the proper circumstances can make you liable for a lawsuit." As he begins to walk away, he looks over his shoulder to say, "Let me know when you find someone we actually have a chance of successfully prosecuting."

Well, what can we possibly say to that?

Because we all know he's right. We may not like it, but he's right.

 _It is what it is._


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Yay, another update!**

* * *

"You're here."

"Do you not want me here?" I ask, all while striding past him and into his condo.

"Of course, I do." Shaking his head, he closes the door behind us. "I just wasn't sure if you'd want to see me tonight."

I quirk a brow. "Why wouldn't I?"

I can see that he hasn't changed yet, but he has tossed his tie and jacket. The top few buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, and the sleeves are folded to his elbows. His suspenders are also still in place. He must have arrived home not too long ago.

"I wasn't exactly the bearer of good news today," he says, slipping his hands into his pant pockets. "I imagine the detectives of SVU aren't too eager to see me at the moment."

"We're not upset with you, we're upset with the situation." Stepping towards him, I gently palm the side of his face, stroking his cheek with my thumb. "And for what it's worth, I was."

"You were what?" he asks quietly, leaning in until our mouths are mere inches apart.

I smile as our lips meet, and only once we break apart, do my words escape through a soft whisper. "Eager to see you."

* * *

We're currently sitting in his living room, having just finished a much needed meal of Chinese takeout. We talked practically non-stop and yet we talked about nothing - just common get-to-know-you things, really. And it was nice. Things felt normal for once. And for those few short hours, I was able to forget about everything I didn't want to remember.

But we can never avoid reality for too long.

"I have to tell you something," I say, setting my nearly empty glass of wine on his coffee table.

He does the same, then adjusts his position to face me more properly. "Okay - good or bad?"

"Both." And just as I expected, he arches a brow in evident interest. He doesn't say anything, though. Instead, he simply waits for me to elaborate - which, again, is what I expected. "Promise you won't interrupt until I'm finished." At his nod, I take a resigned breath before revealing to him revelation after revelation. "Bad news is, I found Matt inside my place again." Already, he opens his mouth to comment, but I silence him with a single look. "Good news is, he was already dead. Bad news, he was actually murdered - stabbed somewhere by someone before being moved and propped into a chair in my apartment. Bad news, that means God-knows-who wanted to send me a message. Bad news, I don't know who that person is, what the message is, or why they wanted it delivered to me." I sigh. "Okay, that's way more bad news than good news."

He doesn't respond right away, and I start to feel nervous when all he does is stare at me with those probing eyes that I swear can see right through me. But before I can look away, he pulls me into his lap and uses a firm but gentle grip to tilt my chin up.

"We'll figure it out, and we'll deal with it," he says, his voice unwavering.

And then I feel the urge to kiss him again.

But before I can, I'm interrupted by the vibrating device inside my back pocket.

Shooting him a sheepish, apologetic grin, I turn on my phone to find a text waiting for me. And when I open the message, I can feel the blood draining from my face. Apparently, Rafael can see it, too.

"What is it?" I hear him say, though it sounds distant with the heavy roaring in my ears. "What's wrong, Ellie?"

"Bad news," I croak, meeting his concerned gaze with a numb one of my own. "Matt wasn't the one who was sending those pictures."

He frowns. "Then who?"

"I don't know."


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Wow! I'm loving your reviews, guys!**

* * *

"Any updates?"

I shake my head, sighing as I meet the concerned gaze of Liv. "No, not that I know of."

It's been almost two weeks since I discovered Matt's body. So far, the detectives haven't found anything useful... Actually, that's not entirely true. The crime scene investigators were able to find trace amounts of DNA beneath Matt's fingernails, but the results haven't come back yet. It's definitely something - better than nothing - but I'm trying not to get my hopes up.

As if on cue, my phone rings, and I can see on the display that it's Detective Collins - the lead on Matt's case. Hesitantly, I pick up, and under the watchful eyes of Liv, I bring the device to my ear. "How can I help you, Detective?"

"Detective Parker," he greets, tone even and unreadable. "It's about the investigation... The DNA. We got a match."

 _Finally. It will all be over now._

Taking a deep breath, I ask, "Who is it?"

"He's known to you, actually." Curiosity has my ears perking. "I understand SVU was investigating him until just recently." My stomach fills with dread. "... Adam Brown."

I think my heart has stopped beating.

* * *

"I should be there."

"You know why you shouldn't," Liv says, not unkindly.

"He taunted me. He murdered my ex-" which, admittedly, I'm not that sorry for, "-and dropped him off at my apartment as if he were doing me a favor." _Was it? A favor?_ "He targeted _me_."

"Which is exactly why you need to keep your distance," Fin says, his face grave. "You don't want to give his lawyers a defense."

Amanda nods. "Homicide is already on their way to arrest him. It'll be over soon."

"We couldn't get him for hurting those women," Nick adds, "but he'll still go down for murder."

Carding my fingers through my hair with barely restrained nerves and tension, I shoot up from my seat. "I need to get some air."

I don't wait to see their understanding looks and nods. Instead, I head straight for the elevator, then straight for the door, then straight down the street toward an undecided designation. I don't know where the hell I'm going. I just need to walk, move, do something other than just sit and wait.

But it's when I round a corner that someone collides into me. Raising my head, I'm about to apologize - but then I see his face. It's him. _Brown_.

"Hello, Ellie," he smiles, "let's go for a ride."

Shocked still, I'm too slow to react when he injects something into the side of my neck. I see, feel, smell and hear him as he drags me away, but I can't do anything about it.

I can't do anything because before I know it, I'm falling under, drowning, sinking into an abyss of darkness.


End file.
